


Déjà vu

by Corveille



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Connor Loves Hank Anderson, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), First time writing angst, Hank Anderson Swears, M/M, Poor Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Short One Shot, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corveille/pseuds/Corveille
Summary: The worst part is… is that this could’ve been avoided, if Connor had stayed behind him instead of running off on his own like he fucking tended to do.“Why couldn’t you just listen to me?!”





	Déjà vu

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! so as you probably read on the tags this is my first take on trying to make something angsty.  
> I had already post it somewhere on the New ERA discord-->https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm, (wonderful place, full of crazy) but wanted to have it here too.
> 
> As always English is not my native language, so I tend to find lots of mistakes even after I post things.
> 
> Enjoy(?)

“Connor! Con its okay son, hang in there,” Hank screams at the barely moving android as he adjusts their positions on the floor, shaking him up and down in the hopes of having any form of reaction.

A line of static fills the room as Connor tries to acknowledge him, resembling the wailing of an injured dog who is just minutes away from the cold grip of death. Hank rips the scarf from his neck and makes a tight ball with it, before putting it right on top of Connor’s, doing his best to add as much pressure as possible to the wound there, covering the broken white plates and patches of glitched-skin.

His other hand comes up to wrap around synthetic skin slick with blood and already it's slipping through his fingers. He holds it tight against his chest, not daring to let go, the only life-line in an ocean of doubt and fear that is his mind.

Hank still doesn’t know how this happened, all it took was one look away from him and now he had an android laying in his arms in a pool of deep blue.

He had never thought much about the color before—neither about its meaning nor beauty—but now, as he’s surrounded by it, clothes getting stained by a seemingly everlasting river of thirium, the only word that comes to him is _ugly._

He wants it gone, to evaporate just like it always does when they reach the scene of a crime but it takes hours for that to happens, he knows at least that much. The static sound is still drilling into his eardrums, pain clear in a mix of short and hitched noises that are supposed to be Connor’s voice.

He wishes it’d just stop.

“Hey Connor, come on kid, talk to me.” He hates how, after all these months of working together, he _still_ knows jack-shit about androids. One would think that with all Connor’s lectures about his people, at least some of them would’ve stuck in his ancient brain.

He should’ve paid more attention, instead of tuning it out like he always does, but he knows that’s not what’s making him lose himself. What’s grinding his nerves right now—what is making his fingers tremble with rage and his own blood run cold— is not knowing if what he was doing is helping him.

Is not knowing how to be of help at all.

And Connor’s looking around for him, even though his head remains stagnant. His eyes look so unfocused, so lost in their tries to find him that Hank has to move his head just so he can see him. Another wail, followed by cracks and noises Hank guesses are words, instructions considering his pleads, but just as indistinguishable as the previous one.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to talk just wait,” he tries to reassure Connor, even though his tone is shaky and anything but. The fact that he has a radio he can use to ask for help instead of staying fucking idle kicks into his head with full force. With a grip that strains his knuckles white, he calls for back-up, rubbing his thumb on the android’s hand with what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

He looks over his shoulder to the two androids on the floor just a shy five feet away from them, set his glare on the one who had caused all this. Almost wishes he could just unload what’s left of his cartridge on that fucker, just to get rid of this boiling feeling festering on his insides.

The only thing he’s glad about right now is how the fabric in his hands is hiding the gash running deep across Connor’s neck.

He’d been too distracted with his own perp, too slow in shooting the other before they’d decided to gut his partner like pig. The worst part is… is that this could’ve been avoided, if Connor had stayed behind him instead of running off on his own like he fucking tended to do.

“Why couldn’t you just listen to me?!” He doesn’t have the energy left to yell at him, even though he wants nothing but to hit him upside the head just to see if that’d fix his uncontrollable need of having to get every single thing done.

_I always accomplish my mission, Hank._

Well, he sure as hell had tried to.

He looks down to see Connor’s mouth twitches into hint of a smile, noises that could be the equivalent of a laugh reach him and he bites back a sob.

Even with all that happened, even in the state Connor’s in, he was still trying to do his best to calm him down, when he should be the one doing that, stupid android.

He doesn’t remember what he tells to the officers on the other side of the line, doesn’t know if he screams, curses or cries at them but he knows they’re coming and that’s enough for him. He’s panicking, can feel it in the way his breathing is getting faster and unstable—he’s sure Connor can see it too—but he needs to ask this, needs to know…

“Con, how much?” _time you got_ is what he doesn’t say, because he can’t. His throat is closing up and the thought of losing Connor, losing the only thing besides Sumo that makes it worth it getting up in the mornings.

He can’t pull through something like this, not again, not when it feels like a fucking déjà vu is taking place right in front of his eyes. He hears a chocked sound as Connor hacks away the thirium filling up his mouth and he is reminded of that cold night of October. His leg feels heavy at his side suddenly and it is not a coincidence it is the same damn leg he’d almost lost in the crash.

As he blinks, it’s not Connor he’s seeing but Cole, held tightly to his chest in a desperate hug while a trail of red left his lips.

He had convulsed once, twice and then…

Then…

His voice had carried out in the wind and snow, small in the storm but there. A voice praying for help to arrive faster, waiting for a miracle to happen.

But he knew now such things did not exist, they never had for him.

“Connor…” _Cole,_ the hand grabbing at his moves and Hank goes with it, before realizing is Connor who’s moving it. With blue fingers, he writes down _thirty_ on the floor next to him.

He couldn’t help but think how unfair this was, he was just getting better, slowly but surely with this kid at his side. Maybe, this was all just a cruel joke from the same God he’d just start to believe in again. Punishment for something he had done on a past life, but even if it was this kid shouldn’t have to suffer through it, through this.

 **“HaN &@Kf/#...**” It takes him more time than he would've liked to realize that's Connor trying to call for him. His voice sounds barely human, akin to the sound of a radio tuning in on wrong frequencies.

“Shh no Con, just stay quiet and we’ll get you help,” Even though there not enough time, and the damage is too great. “Just…just wait okay?” Because he should try to save the energy, but Connor either can’t or won’t listen to him, because he keeps going. 

“ **N?$Ot—eNo#!|gH T¡ME**.” Hank is doing the mental math and he knows, he knows that but… he can’t lose him, he doesn’t deserve to have this because of his mistakes.

_Punish me, me not him._

_But,_ his mind whispers, harsh like thorns of a sweet rose, _what better way to punish someone than by taking away what they value most?_

Something falls on top of Connor’s face and trails down his cheek, a drop of water. The first thing he thinks is maybe from a leak above them. But as Hank brings a hand up, he realizes they’re his own tears and he can’t stop them from coming anymore.

There are only four seconds left.

**“H &/ANK…..I—I…”**

Three seconds…

_No, no, fuck don’t._

“Don’t do this to me.”

“ **L#@OvE—.”**

Two…

“Connor!”

“.. **you.”**

One…

“…Son.”

Connor shuts his eyes and his limbs become dead weight on his. The last thing to go is his head which twitches once, twice and then...

Then it falls down, limp at his side… just as Hank hears the tell-tale sirens of police cars heading to where they are.

**Author's Note:**

> *Place a box of paper tissues* just going to leave this here, in case someone needs it.


End file.
